


For The Love of Ghosts

by BookGirlFan, DuendeVerde4



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Community: pod_together, Families of Choice, Gen, Miscarriage, Podfic, Podfic Length: 1-1.5 Hours, offscreen child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25522282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookGirlFan/pseuds/BookGirlFan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuendeVerde4/pseuds/DuendeVerde4
Summary: Bruce Wayne: Prince of Gotham, heir to the Wayne fortune...adopter of ghosts?aka Bruce is very soft for his ghost children.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & His Kids, Previous Bruce Wayne/Talia al Ghul
Comments: 35
Kudos: 141
Collections: Pod_Together 2020





	For The Love of Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in endnote.
> 
> BGF: This was an absolute blast to write, and ended up being so much longer and more involved than I ever would have thought! Seriously, I thought this would be 2-3k and suddenly I look up and it's a 10k epic. Duende was wonderful to work with and gave me so much encouragement and ideas, I could not have done this without her!
> 
> Duendeverde4: I can't believe we made it! :') It was so amazing to work with BGF, i just really admire her as a creator. There's nothing here we didn't discuss, from little things like how the use of this verb instead of that one shows us what Bruce is like and how he is feeling, to big things like gentrification, ethics, and death. Every little phrase had the same amount of care. The worldbuilding was unbeliveable. Thank you for letting me in your process BGF; with the world in such a traumatic period, I'm glad I got to spend it working with you!

[Download Or Stream the Podfic (Music and Sound Effects Version) here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1qpvPmSg-spB9KyMb1TxHsnw5xg8jukYN/view?usp=sharing)

Bruce Wayne was eight years old when his parents were killed. 

Everyone knows the story. It made headlines across the country, two of Gotham’s brightest being shot down in an alley, leaving behind a young son with no one but the butler to look after him. Bruce stayed shut up in the house for weeks after, avoiding the paparazzi eager to get photos of the boy at the centre of such tragedy. With nothing else to do, he read. 

At eight, he was old enough to understand death, but young enough to still believe in stories. Morbidly curious, he devoured every book he could get his hands on that were somehow related to death: murder mysteries, detective stories, undertaker manuals, horror anthologies. His favourites were the ghost stories, where death wasn’t the end, just a chance to fulfil unfinished dreams. 

On the anniversary of his parents’ death, Alfred asked him what he wanted to do. He suggested going to their grave, attending some of the ceremonies around Gotham, or simply staying inside and looking through old photo albums, remembering them. 

Bruce had only one response. “I want to find a ghost.” 

***

Bruce Wayne was eleven years old when he saw his first ghost. 

He’d been searching Gotham for months, looking for places where violent deaths had occurred and using his homemade devices to scan for paranormal activity. In Gotham, violent deaths were never lacking, but Bruce still couldn’t seem to find any ghosts. 

Any other child might have given up, convinced that they’d done all they could, or that if they hadn’t found a ghost by now, maybe ghosts weren’t real. Not Bruce. With Alfred’s reluctant assistance, he continued to scour the city, searching for any sign of the supernatural. When he’d thoroughly investigated all the places well known for the murders that had occurred there, he moved on to the less well known ones, and then the ones where murders were only recent. 

The only place he left untouched was the alley where his parents had died. Even he wasn’t sure if he was afraid he would see his parents’ ghosts, or afraid he wouldn’t. 

When he finally did encounter a ghost, at first, he didn’t even realise it. 

It was one of the few times he was exploring without Alfred by his side. By now, Alfred was accustomed to Bruce’s ghost searches, but he was still wary of paparazzi wanting photos, or even better, an interview, with the famous child billionaire. This night, however, Bruce had managed to sneak away from a party, and was now heading for his first possible haunting site without any supervision. It felt like adulthood in a far more pleasant way than planning his parents’ funeral had.

At the first haunting site, he found nothing. His rudimentary tools showed no sign of paranormal activity, and a methodical search of the area revealed only some splatters of blood remaining from the suicide that had put the area on his list to begin with. He was too used to negative results to sigh, instead beginning to head out to the next area on his list. 

As he reached the end of the alley, something caught at his sleeve and tugged. He looked down at it, ready to disentangle his sleeve from whatever rubbish or piece of exposed brick it had caught on, but there was nothing there. This was one of the better neighbourhoods in Gotham, so he knew it wasn’t a pickpocket. None would dare to work in an area where so many police sponsors lived. 

He continued walking, heading for the next site on his list. Alfred would realise that he wasn’t at the party eventually, and he wanted to cover as many potential hauntings as he could before that happened, because once it did, Alfred would find him almost immediately. He had a gift for it, enough that sometimes Bruce thought Alfred’s tales of being a spy weren’t just bedtime stories. 

It wasn’t that Bruce really thought that anything on this list would actually pan out, anyway. He was including them for the sake of science, because ruling them out would give him more data to work with and mean that hopefully, he could narrow the parameters on what made a true haunting. 

Something touched his sleeve again. 

It could have been a coincidence, but Bruce didn’t believe in coincidences. If it had happened twice, that was sufficient reason to believe it may happen again. 

To test it, he stopped walking. A few moments later, the tug at his sleeve came again, pulling him towards another alley nearby. This time he followed it. 

This alley didn’t look any different from the last, and unlike the last, it hadn’t been on his list. If anything had happened there, it hadn’t made it into police reports. Bringing out his instruments, he walked up and down the alley, searching for some evidence of the presence that had brought him here. It was slightly colder in one area of the alley, but Bruce knew that could just as easily be because of a hidden pipe or air tunnel. Had he been fooling himself to think that the tug on his sleeve was more than a caught thread? 

No. He refused to believe that. It had been real, which suggested there really was something in this alley. He just hadn’t found it yet. 

Bruce ran his hands against the part of the wall that had felt cold, not minding the faint coating of dirt now all over his hands. He’d had worse. 

The tug on his sleeve came again, stronger than before. This time, it didn’t seem to be leading him anywhere, just assuring him it was still there. Maybe that meant he was on the right track. 

“Ghost? Can you hear me?” Bruce called out. The wind seemed to pick up. “Ghost?” He forgot about everything else, about the dirt on his hands, how worried Alfred would be, where he would go next if this didn’t work, everything falling away as he concentrated for any sound that could be a reply. 

“Hello, Bruce.” 

He spun around. There was a ghost standing behind him. She smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Leslie Thompkins.” 

“You’re a real ghost?” he asked, the words falling out of his mouth before he even realised he’d said them. He’d waited so long to finally find a real ghost, seeing one actually in front of him was almost too much to believe. 

“I am. I died here, a long time ago, while trying to help people. Now that I’m dead, helping people is harder, but I do my best.”

Bruce looked around at the deserted alley, the light from the street barely penetrating the darkness. He’d seen a lot of final resting places in his search for ghosts, but this one looked even more boring and deserted than most. “Why do you stay here if you want to help people?” 

Leslie smiled at him. “Ghosts can last a long time, kid. When I died, this was one of the worst neighbourhoods in Gotham, and now I can’t leave it.” 

“Why not?” 

She heaved a deep breath and sat, back leaning against the concrete wall. He sat cross-legged in front of her, eager to learn everything he could about what ghosts were really like. This was his first chance to really talk to one, and if he didn’t take advantage of this chance, there may not be another one. 

“When people die and turn into ghosts, it’s because there’s something still tying them to the world, a final wish that hasn’t been answered. Until they fulfil that wish, they can’t move on. Often, it’s the last thing they were thinking as they died.” 

“What was yours?” Bruce asked, leaning forward. 

She smiled again, but the deep creases around her eyes showed a weariness even death hadn’t taken from her. “That’s not a very polite thing to ask, and many ghosts don’t even know, but I do, and I’ll tell you. I wanted the children of Gotham to be safe.” 

Bruce sat back, mind turning that one over. “How would you fulfill that? There are too many children in Gotham, you can’t personally guarantee safety for all of them.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I’ve been here so long?” 

“You can’t change your wish? Or go somewhere else and help there?” He looked around at the clean concrete of the alley, free of needles, broken bottles, or the general trash of the streets. There wasn’t even the slightest bloodstain to denote that someone had died there. Not exactly top priority for help in a city like Gotham. 

“Your wish is part of who you are and how you died. It can’t change. And it’s not just a wish that ties me. My body does as well.” 

A lump rose in Bruce’s throat, the memory coming back to him of two bodies lying on the cold ground, hands clasped together even in death. He pushed the memory away. 

“My body’s buried, right over there.” She pointed towards one of the alley walls. “All ghosts are tied to some physical thing that they had in life, and they can’t stray too far from it. It’s usually their bodies, but not always. I heard once of a child who was tied to his favourite ball.” 

“How do you know all this?” 

“I told you, Bruce,” she said. “I’ve been in this alley a long time, and you pick up things. You and your Alfred have been looking for ghosts around here long enough for word to get around, even to out of the way places like this. I’d know you’re Bruce Wayne even if you didn’t look just like your great-grandfather. He was a good man, and a good friend.” She looked around at the alley. “He was the one to clean up this neighbourhood, after I died. He didn’t want anyone else to die like I had.” 

“So my great-grandfather is the reason you’re trapped here?” 

“Not on purpose. He didn’t know I’d still be here. You can never know all the consequences of an action, even one made with the best intentions.” 

“You didn’t tell him?” She frowned, so Bruce clarified, “After you died, you didn’t tell him you were still here?” 

Her expression cleared. “Seeing ghosts is difficult, and you can only see me because I’ve been around long enough to figure out how to show myself. You’ve probably passed dozens of ghosts without even realising.” 

He leaned forward eagerly. “How do I see more ghosts? Will it be easier now I’ve seen you?” 

“I don’t know. I didn’t even think ghosts existed, until I was one.” He looked down, disheartened, and she hastily continued, “but just because I don’t know doesn’t mean the information isn’t out there. If you’re anything like your great-grandfather, you’ll keep looking until you find it.” 

“I will,” he said, “but first–“ 

“Master Bruce?” 

Bruce looked away, distracted by Alfred’s voice, and when he looked back Leslie was gone. “You won’t be stuck here forever, Leslie,” he promised her. “I won’t let you.” 

It took years of work, but Wayne Industries built a children’s hospital in the centre of lower Gotham, just where it could help the most of Gotham’s children. It was named the Leslie Thompkins Hospital, and hidden underneath, deep within its foundation, lay the bones of Leslie Thompkins herself, placed there by Bruce Wayne. 

***

Bruce Wayne was twenty two years old when he first brought a ghost home. 

He’d seen many more ghosts since that first one, and by now was used to the way the rest of the city would ignore them, unable to hear the heartbroken wailing of a new ghost even as they subconsciously flinched away from it. He’d learnt to pretend the same, knowing that to admit to the illusion would risk being declared mad, destroying his parents’ legacy. Wherever his parents had gone after they died, in this world, that legacy was all that was left of them. He couldn’t let it die. 

Under cover of darkness was the only time he could act. 

It had taken years of training, training that was difficult to find and even more difficult to complete, but now he no longer needed to consciously enter the meditative state that allowed him to see ghosts. It was second nature, something he did without even thinking. The goggles he’d originally worn to help him focus were no longer necessary, but he still wore them, along with a long black coat. Anything that would further separate his self-imposed duties as a ghostfinder from his public persona as Bruce Wayne. 

Tonight, he was at the circus - or rather, the field where the circus had been. The circus had left town two days ago following the deaths of their star performers, the Flying Graysons, and now the field was deserted. Deserted, that was, except for one small boy, kneeling in the wilted grass of what had been the main tent. 

“What happened to them?” The little boy looked up at him, eyes shining with an unearthly glow. His shoulders were slumped, and his hands were caressing the brightly coloured circus costume in front of him. In any other circumstances the bright colours would seem cheery - here, in this abandoned field, with the dark streaks of dried blood marring the gaiety of the costume, it was a tragedy. 

“They died,” Bruce said quietly. 

The boy shook his head, hands sinking further into the costume. He didn’t seem to notice the way his hands went right through it. “No, they can’t. They were performing. They’re acrobats, really good ones. The best ones...” As he curled further into himself, Bruce could see that the costume he was wearing matched the costume on the ground. 

Bruce crouched, but didn’t move closer. Ghosts were unpredictable, especially young ones. They didn’t have as much control as adults. “They didn’t mean to leave you. One of their tricks went wrong.” 

“No!” He scrabbled at the costume, trying to touch it, moving more and more furiously as he continued to fail. 

Bruce tensed, ready to dive for cover if the boy started throwing things, but the boy finally gave up. He just sat there in the dirt, the bloody streaks on the costume starting to appear on the boy’s own costume. 

Bruce dared to come closer. Finally, the boy was beginning to accept. 

“No…” the boy repeated, but it was softer, not a denial but a sound of heartbroken acceptance. His parents were gone. 

Bruce pulled himself upright again, forcing his brain to shift back to business and not be distracted by an all too familiar tragedy. This was usually the point the ghost would disappear, and he could then take readings of the scene and transmit data back to the cave. There was nothing he could do for the boy, not when he’d be back with his parents any minute. Or was just gone, forever. Bruce didn’t know exactly what happened when a ghost disappeared from the world, but for the sake of his parents, he avoided questioning it. 

On the rare occasions the thought did intrude without him immediately dismissing it, he wondered if somewhere, his parents were watching him. Were they proud of him? Did they meet some of the ghosts he’d helped to move on, hearing what he’d done for them? Or was there nothing after death, his parents’ lives finishing with their rotting bodies, and every ghost he’d helped move on was another person whose last existence he’d ended? 

That was always the point he slammed the wall down again, shutting those thoughts away. If there was nothing after death, was there reason for him to do anything? Eventually, time would take it all, and whatever momentary good he may have done would be gone as well. That kind of nihilism would destroy him if he let it, so he refused to let it.

“Why aren’t I gone too?” The boy asked. For some reason, he was still there. 

Bruce didn’t have an answer. Ghosts disappeared when they felt their lives were completed, and in Bruce’s experience, that usually happened as soon as they realised they were dead. Perhaps the boy hadn’t realised that yet. 

The boy looked up at him, wide eyes beginning to brim with tears. “I died too, so why can’t I be gone too?” 

Perhaps not. 

Bruce stepped closer, drawn in by the boy’s distress. All too vividly came the image of another young boy, shattered by the death of his parents, wondering how they could possibly have left him behind. That boy’s only comfort had come from the assurance that he wasn’t alone, that someone still cared for him. Now, he could pass to another boy the assurance that Alfred had given him. 

The first tears started to fall, and Bruce gathered the boy into his arms. 

“I don’t want to be alone!” The dark head collided with his shoulder, translucent body shaking as he sobbed. Bruce could feel the tears landing on his shoulder, disappearing moments later as though they never were. Even the boy’s tears wouldn’t stay with him. 

Bruce’s arms tightened around the boy. “You don’t have to be alone. You can come with me.” 

***

Bruce Wayne was twenty three years old the first time he saw a person possessed. 

He’d stumbled onto the man entirely by accident, following a vague report about odd sounds in the alley. Normally, such a vague report wouldn’t be enough to bring him out, but Dick had been living at the Manor for six months now, and this seemed like the kind of low stakes investigation that would reduce Dick’s anxiety about Bruce leaving him. 

When the faintly glowing man rushed past him, slashing the air with a knife and giggling wildly, the stakes suddenly seemed much higher. 

He’d seen that kind of glow before, but only ever on a ghost, not around a person. Whatever was going on here, it was much bigger than just some noises in an alley. The giggling alone could be the result of some kind of drug, he mused, a situation which was hardly uncommon in Gotham. Gotham had long had a reputation for being a city of strangeness, where lunatics were common and unusual drug combinations came out from nowhere. It could have been a new drug, he considered, then continued aloud, “But why were his eyes glowing?” 

“Because people are idiots?” A voice offered from behind him. “I mean, it takes a special kind of idiot to work at Arkham.” 

Bruce stiffened. He should have been alone in this alley. 

“Did you… can you hear me?” 

Bruce turned, quickly scanning for the source of the voice, and found a ghost of a young boy hanging from a rickety ladder. The boy looked shocked, but quickly hid it under a mask of indifference. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually. I’ve been here long enough.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

The boy stiffened defensively, the rusted metal of the ladder beginning to vibrate. “What’s it to you?” 

Bruce purposely relaxed his posture, switching the conversation. If the boy didn’t want to talk about himself, Bruce wouldn’t push it. “Why did you mention Arkham?” 

Visibly less tense, the boy swung back and forth in a disconcerting manner, the chipped and graffitied brickwork still visible through his body. “Worst ghosts are in Arkham. Everyone knows that. They possess someone, ride the body around for a while, then get bored or get caught and end up back at Arkham again.” 

“Ghosts possess people?” Ra’s al Ghul had never mentioned that. Neither had Talia. 

“You didn’t know that? Sheesh, you’re more amateur than I thought.” 

Bruce took a deep breath. He wanted to go back to Dick, forget about any of this, but knew his conscience would never allow him. No one in Gotham knew ghosts better than him - no one living, at least. If he could help, he would. No other family should be separated like his was. No child would be left alone. 

“What happens to the person who was possessed?” he asked. 

The boy shrugged. “They all get caught eventually, if not by the pigs, then by other crooks. The ones that survive, they usually end up back in Arkham, just not as staff. The ones that don’t…” He shrugged again, continuing to swing. “Ghosts can’t do much without a body. Like I said, they all end up at Arkham eventually.” 

“Thank you,” he told the boy, who made a face at him but also looked quietly pleased. Bruce knew he should leave to return home to Dick, or even to search through his books for more information on possession, but the thought of where this child called home made him linger. “Can you tell me your name?” 

Instantly, the boy’s tension returned. “Why do you want to know?” 

“You helped me, I want to help you.” 

“You don’t need my name for that,” the boy pointed out, but he must have accepted the reasoning at least somewhat, because after a moment he said, “You can call me Jay.” 

***

Bruce Wayne was twenty eight years old when he lost a child. 

He’d come back to the manor in the early hours of the morning after helping Jim Gordon by casting out a ghost. After his daughter Barbara had been possessed and Bruce had been the only one able to identify the signs and help her, Jim had been a lot more open to the idea of ghosts. Officially, Jim had no idea of the true identity of the man in the goggles and dark coat who sometimes came by his office, and the man was only there to observe. Unofficially, Jim and Barbara were coming over for Sunday dinner. Jim still couldn’t see ghosts, but Barbara was learning to, and the boys were happy to help her practice. 

If it made some part of Bruce ache, watching Barbara grow up as Dick and Jason stayed the same, he made sure never to let on. His boys may not have been alive, but they still existed, still learned and laughed and loved. He’d never get to see them grow, but at least he’d never lose them.

That thought came back now, as he stared at Alfred’s somber face. 

“The boys,” he said hoarsely. “Are they hurt?” No matter that he’d never heard of anything that could hurt a ghost, these were his children.

“Master Dick is fine.” Alfred hesitated, and Bruce’s heart rose to his throat. “Master Jason appears to be missing.” 

“How?” 

“Bruce!” Dick came flying towards him, young face twisted in worry and fear. Bruce knelt instinctively, letting the boy slam into him, the very feeling of it telling him Dick was emotional enough it was affecting his form. “Jay’s gone! He’s gone, and Alfred said we couldn’t look for him until you came back, but you’re back and now we have to find him!” 

“We will, sport, we will.” Knowing his son was relying on him was enough for Bruce to force some order out of his chaotic thoughts. “No one could take Jason anywhere without taking his bones. We’ll go check his grave, maybe they’ve left some signs.” 

He could feel Dick’s trust in the way Dick’s body became less solid. As glad as he was that his son was less distressed, a small part of Bruce missed the weight of him. 

Bruce stood again, reaching out to take Dick’s hand in a very familiar motion. Even if he couldn’t feel the hand itself, the freezing cold of Dick’s presence was enough to ensure he wouldn’t lose track of where Dick was. At the beginning, it had been a very convenient way to keep Dick by his side instead of letting him loose into the less child-friendly parts of the manor. It had also doubled as a form of comfort, reminding Dick that even with his parents gone, he was not alone. 

They headed outside together, Alfred following behind. As they reached the graveyard, Dick pulled ahead of him, the graves surrounding them looking even more eerie when viewed through his ghostly form. “Hurry up, B, you have to look for clues! Jason needs us!” 

Bruce hastened his stride, pushing away all the worries that threatened to flood him. He needed to know what happened to Jason. Until then, worries could wait. 

Finally, he arrived at the grave, bringing out the flashlight he always kept with him to examine it more closely. Nothing looked disturbed. The flowers were still pristine, carefully tended to by Alfred, and although there was no gravestone, the birdbath that marked the grave looked the same as ever. 

Dick was looking at him eagerly. “Can you see any clues, Bruce? Do you know who took Jason?” 

“We don’t know anyone took Jason, chum.” Seeing Dick’s face fall, he continued, “But we’re not giving up. I’ll dig up his grave, check his bones are still there. If they’re gone, we know someone has taken him.” The difficulty of anyone even finding the grave made it unlikely, but for the sake of Dick’s peace of mind, as well as his own, he would still check. It was just as unlikely that anyone would have dug up a child’s bones from a Gotham back alley and smuggled them home to rebury them, but, once Jason had agreed, Bruce had done exactly that. 

He could have waited until morning to start digging. He could have hired a company to dig the hole for him, finding some way of explaining why he needed it. Instead, he grabbed a shovel from the nearby gardening shed, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. The moon was hidden behind clouds, but the light of his flashlight was enough to get started. 

Before long, Alfred disappeared, coming back with a lantern. Bruce focused on his shovelling and didn’t look at him, not wanting to see his disapproval, but when he eventually dared to glance up, Alfred didn’t look displeased at all. Instead, he looked understanding. When their eyes met, Alfred inclined his head towards Dick, who was now happily chattering away to Jason’s as-yet-unfound bones, and Bruce understood. Alfred was proud of him for doing what he could to look after his boys. 

It took hours, but finally Bruce’s shovel struck something solid. Dick jumped in the hole with Bruce, trying in vain to push aside the dirt and see what had been uncovered. “Did you find Jay’s bones, B? Is this them?” 

Bruce crouched next to him and started pushing away the dirt, ignoring the chilling feeling of Dick’s smaller hands passing through his own. “We’ll see in a minute.” As he pushed the dirt back, more of the object his shovel had hit was revealed, showing the gleaming white of bone. 

He brushed back the rest of the dirt, in case it was just a fluke and Jason had been stolen, but now, the entire skeleton was there, shining in the early morning light. Jason hadn’t been stolen. Jason had left. 

Dick looked at him, uncomprehending. “But if it’s here, where’s Jason?” 

“He’s moved on, bud.” He tried to explain, as much for his own benefit as Dick’s. “You know Jason already fulfilled his final wish, seeing that all the kids he died protecting grew up safe.” 

Dick nodded. “Yeah. He wouldn’t come live here until they were all off the streets.” 

“That’s right. Well, once his final wish was fulfilled, he could choose to leave whenever he liked. I guess he chose today.” 

“But he didn’t say goodbye?” Tears filled Dick’s glowing eyes. “Was it my fault? Did I say something that made him leave?” 

Bruce gathered Dick close in a hug. “No, Dickie-bird, it’s not because of you. It was Jason’s choice to leave. Maybe it’s a good thing, that he felt at peace enough that he could move on.” Dick’s head nodded against his shoulder as he accepted the explanation. Bruce tried to accept it as well, but acceptance didn’t come to him as easily as it came to Dick.

Why would Jason just leave? Was it really just that he felt he had the peace to move on? Had whatever came after this life called to him, leaving him unable to even say goodbye? Not that he should have to say goodbye to Bruce, he didn’t owe Bruce anything. Bruce had looked after Jason, but he wasn’t Jason’s father. Jason didn’t have to love him or tell him that he’d decided to move on. Jason had survived decades without any adult in his life. 

But to not even tell Dick? Bruce had thought the two boys were closer than that, but perhaps he’d been seeing only what he wanted to see. He hadn’t wanted to carry the guilt of stopping these children from moving in to whatever came next, so he’d convinced himself they were happier like this. That Jason was happier like this. He’d trapped Jason in his loneliness with him, keeping him from whatever came next, whatever afterlife he could have been enjoying with the street children he had once known and been friends with. 

No wonder Jason hadn’t said goodbye. 

***

Bruce Wayne was thirty years old when he realised his children loved him too.

After Jason moved on, Bruce had pulled away from Dick, fearing that it was because of him that Dick hadn’t moved on as well. Dick had a family that could be waiting for him, and in his loneliness, Bruce had been keeping them apart. He had started this mission wanting to save families, not separate them. 

He had started spending more time out on the streets, finding ghosts who he could help to move on. The month after Jason had left, Bruce helped more ghosts to move on than he had for the entire year before that. He especially focused on children, not wanting to separate any more families like he had done with Dick’s. Gotham’s murder rates had improved over time with the social programs he had advocated for and new job opportunities he had funded, but it was still far too high. It would always be far too high. 

With all his efforts, he had spent less and less time at the manor, something he had felt both guilty and grateful over. Over time, he’d hoped that spending less time with Dick would encourage Dick to move on, but in the meantime, he’d found it painful seeing the disappointment in Dick’s face every time Bruce said he was too busy to play with him. 

It had been Timothy and Cassandra who changed things for him. 

Timothy had come first, and, unlike any other ghost he had met, Bruce had known him before he died. Only slightly, because Timothy’s parents weren’t often in Gotham, and when they were away, their son never appeared at any parties. Bruce had naturally assumed that was because he went away with them. He didn’t find out otherwise until it was too late, and all he could do was mourn what might have been. 

Because of all the time spent away from the manor, it had taken him weeks to notice that there were once again two little ghosts running through the halls. When he’d asked Dick about it, Dick had blinked up at him with innocent eyes and told him he’d found a friend. Alfred had been no more helpful, telling him if he wouldn’t spend time with Dick, he shouldn’t be surprised if Dick found a new playmate. 

Eventually, once he’d managed to corner Tim and assure him that it was alright for him to be there, Tim had slipped into life at the Manor as though he had been there all along. He wasn’t replacing Jason, Bruce told himself, because no one could ever replace Jason. Tim was his own person, someone who could bring some life back to the Manor and give Dick a new friend. 

Dick wasn’t the only one affected by the new child in the manor. Alfred clearly enjoyed Tim’s politeness and love of new stories, and for Bruce himself, he loved having another child bringing light into the manor’s dark halls. 

That was exactly why he stayed away from Tim. 

These children weren’t his to love. 

He knew it was ridiculous, but still he couldn’t shake it. Dick had had parents, had had a family who loved him. How could Bruce possibly think he could ever take their place? He knew well that the ache of losing parents never left, and he’d had the benefit of being able to actually grow up and move on with his life. Dick didn’t even have that. How could he try to take their place in Dick’s life, just because they couldn’t be there? Was he truly that selfish? This was why he’d tried to separate himself from Dick, so Dick could move on, not so Dick could find a friend and the whole cycle could start over again. 

Of course, Tim’s situation wasn’t quite the same. To start with, there was the obvious difference that Tim’s parents were alive. They were alive, while their child was dead, and in some way, that had made it easier for him to accept Tim into his home and his heart. Tim wasn’t missing out on reuniting with his parents by being here, and, from what Tim and Dick had individually told him about Tim’s relationship with his parents, and what he had observed of the Drakes himself, the Drakes wouldn’t have cared much anyway. 

That should have been enough to make Bruce feel better, that he could be a family to someone who didn’t have another, but for the nagging doubt that he was even capable of it. His own parents had died when he was a child, and although he had worked hard to train himself to see and interact with ghosts, that was little help when it came to children. He’d had a brief glimpse of the possibility before Talia had miscarried, and even then he’d known that nothing her father had taught him could equip him for that task. What did he know about raising a child? After all, Jason had left. 

He hadn’t said goodbye. Even now, months after Jason had moved on, Bruce still wondered why he’d never said goodbye – if not to him, then at least to Dick. Each time, he reminded himself that he didn’t know how it had happened, that maybe Jason hadn’t had enough time, or hadn’t remembered. He told himself that Jason didn’t owe him anything, that he wasn’t Jason’s father. 

He hadn’t been Jason’s father. He wasn’t Dick’s father. He couldn’t be Tim’s father. 

However, the longer Tim was at the manor, the more Dick returned to running and flipping through the house, the more Bruce realised that what he thought he could do didn’t really matter. Neither of these boys deserved to feel alone and unloved just because he was feeling inadequate. He wasn’t and couldn’t be their father, but he could be their guardian. 

After he’d accepted that, things were easier. He spent more time with the two of them, both individually and together. Dick was thrilled at having his attention again, and Tim was soon caught up in his excitement, both pestering Bruce to play or watch movies with them, then cheering whenever he did. Of course, Bruce still wanted Dick to move on, return to his own family, but while Dick remained, he wanted him to know someone cared. 

It was only when Cassandra arrived that it all came to a head. 

Bruce had found Cassandra in a museum, connected to a sword on display. He didn’t know how long she had been there, or where she had originally come from, but it was evident she had been there for a while. Whatever language she spoke, it wasn’t one he recognised. Through many hours of trying, they finally managed to establish limited communication, mostly gestures with a few words thrown in for good measure. When he asked if he could bring her back to his home, she enthusiastically agreed. 

Upon arriving home with Cassandra in tow, he was met at the door by Dick and Tim. To his surprise, Dick looked absolutely devastated. “You’re replacing me?” 

Rendered speechless with surprise, Bruce didn’t respond, just stared at him. Dick, clearly taking this as confirmation, fled through the wall, Tim hesitating a moment then following behind. 

A moment too late, Bruce finally reacted. “Dick? Dick! Tim!” He turned to Cassandra, still standing beside him. “I go.” He gestured after the boys, and hoped she understood. She nodded, so he left. 

Climbing up the winding stairway at the centre of the manor, he tried to think where Dick would go. He’d need to talk to Tim too, but Dick has been most obviously upset, even though Bruce still didn’t really understand why Dick would think he had been replaced. Just as Tim hadn’t been a replacement for Jason, Cassandra wouldn’t be a replacement for Dick. 

Bruce leaned over the edge of the upper floor railing, looking at the top of the chandelier. It was one of Dick’s favourite places to hide, particularly because as a weightless ghost, he could stay up there as long as he wanted, while any living person who came after him would risk being too heavy and making the chandelier fall. This time, it seemed, Dick had gone for somewhere more private. 

Bruce systematically searched through the other rooms of that floor, but was unable to find either of the boys. Hopefully, neither of them had hidden in the walls, or worse, the underground cave system. Even though he knew for a fact there were no ghosts living in it, it still felt haunted by something. 

He finally discovered Dick in the observatory, curled up beside the telescope. It had been Jason’s favourite room, and he’d often been amazed at the number of stars that could be seen once they were no longer covered by the smog of Gotham. When he was alive, he’d once confided to Bruce, he’d dreamed of seeing the stars someday. 

Blinking back tears at the unexpected memory, Bruce sat down beside Dick on the carpeted floor. Dick turned away, rubbing at his eyes. “Hey, bud.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Dick mumbled, still turned away. His fingertips ran up and down the telescope, sinking in only slightly. 

“We don’t have to talk,” Bruce said gently. “We can just sit here.” 

They sat in silence for a long moment, only broken by the sound of Bruce’s breathing. 

“Has Tim been up here yet?” Bruce finally asked. 

Dick shook his head. 

“We should bring him up here one day. I think he’d like it. Maybe Cass would too.” 

Dick said something too low for Bruce to hear. 

“Can you say that again, buddy?” 

Dick turned to look at him. “I said, why did you bring her here? Don’t you want me anymore?” 

“Oh, Dickie-bird, that’s not-” Bruce tried to interrupt, but Dick just barrelled on. 

“You said I’d never have to be alone, but after Jason died you weren’t there! You left me, and now there’s a new ghost, and she’s a girl so you don’t even have to think about Jason! You’ll forget him, and you’ll forget me too!” 

“I’ll never forget you, bud. Never ever.” He pulled Dick into his lap. “After Jason died… It was hard. I should have spent more time with you, and I’m sorry. But I would never replace you.” 

“Does that mean you’re replacing me?” A small voice whispered from the doorway. Bruce looked over and saw Tim watching them. “I wasn’t invited, not like them. I can go-”

“No.” Cass appeared through the wall, her head and shoulders visible while the rest remained in the room behind. “No go.” 

Bruce held back a sigh. You’d think by now he would have been used to the fact that living with ghosts, there was no such thing as a private conversation. “Come here.” He held his arms open, inviting the two closer. Hesitantly, they came, settling beside him on the carpet. 

“I love all of you,” he told them. “I would never replace any of you. All three of you are my children, and none of you are replacements for anyone else. Not even for Jason. I know it might seem a bit sudden, inviting Cass into the family like this,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, offering silent apology for what he belatedly realised he should have talked to the boys about first, “but just like you two, she needed a family. And I think if Jason had met her, he’d have wanted her to have a family too. Just like Tim,” he ruffled Tim’s hair, making the boy smile, “and just like you, Dick. We’re all a family here. And I love you all.” 

Tim cuddled closer to Bruce’s side, whispering into his shirt, “Love you, Dad.” 

Cass’s head tilted to one side as she thought, then she nodded. “Love Dad.” 

Dick, all evidence of tears erased, echoed, “We love you too, Dad.” 

Bruce let the words sink in, and finally accepted that these were his children, and whether he felt ready or not, he was their father. 

***

Bruce Wayne was thirty years old when his child came back. 

A box had arrived that fateful morning, placed innocuously on the doorstep. Even Alfred’s extraordinary observation skills hadn’t been enough to spot who had dropped it off, and the box itself held no clues. It was an ordinary box, long and flat, similar to the kind a suit might come in. Yet Bruce hadn’t ordered a suit – his suits came custom from a Gotham tailor, the same one the Wayne family had been using for generations. 

Dick, Tim, and Cass all gathered around him in the parlour as he made to open the box, sometimes brushing through him in their excitement. He tolerated the cool flashes with fondness, a smile coming to his face as he compared it to how it had been only a year earlier. It was a change Jason would have been proud of. 

He reached for the latch to open it, then hesitated. It reminded him of something. He’d seen similar boxes before, but couldn’t quite remember when. During his training, that much he was sure of, but he’d travelled a lot to find the most knowledgeable people about ghosts, and although he’d made a point to memorise all the most dangerous implements and information, even his memory wasn’t perfect. 

“Come on, B! Hurry up!” 

“Please, Dad, we want to see!” 

His boys’ impatient voices made him smile, bringing him back to the present time when things had changed so much since those years spent training. He had a family again. 

Bruce looked down at Cass, who was still working hard to be comfortable speaking English. “What about you, sweetheart?” 

She frowned, mouthing the words to herself as she worked out what he had asked. Finally, she said, “Open. Please.” 

He smiled at her, making sure she could see how proud he was. “Alright.” He reached for the latch again, and this time he didn’t stop to consider where it had come from or what it reminded him of, he just flipped it open. 

He immediately regretted it. 

A dark cloud came sweeping out of the box, obscuring Bruce’s vision and turning everything faintly red. With it came a sound, steadily growing stronger until it built into a scream. “TRAITOR!” 

Bruce gathered his children close, huddling against the table to protect them as best he could. All three were clearly terrified, and Bruce was barely less so. Whatever this was, it was unlike anything he had seen before. He racked his brain, trying to think of where he had seen the box before, and how he might be able to force this creature back inside it. 

“LIAR!” 

Everything in the room began to vibrate. A vase wobbled, then toppled to the floor. 

The cloud was beginning to coalesce into a figure, still dark red and emitting sizzles of power, but recognisably more human. “YOU USED ME!” 

“B?” Dick whispered, small fingers gripped tightly in Bruce’s sleeve, “why is Jason doing this? What does he mean?” 

Bruce stared at him, then back at the figure. Now Dick had said it, he could see it, could see his much missed child twisted and magnified in this menacing ghoul. “Jason!” he shouted over the vibrations still echoing around the parlour. “What are you doing? Who used you?” 

The vibrations grew louder as Jason turned to him, eyes glowing unearthly red.

“ _You_ used me, old man,” Jason hissed, “so now I’m using you.” He dived forward, his smoky form enveloping Bruce completely. His children screamed, but Bruce could hear them only dimly, struggling to breathe, to think, as Jason invaded him completely. 

He’d seen possessions before, but had never understood what it felt like to lose control of your own body, to have someone rampaging through your thoughts and memories. Jason had found his memories of Jason’s disappearance and was tearing through them, searching angrily for some proof that Bruce had betrayed him. Bruce could feel the memories being rifled through, every image coming to mind as though it had happened only yesterday. Instinctively, Bruce pushed back, but he wasn’t strong enough. Jason was much stronger now than he had been before, and easily pushed Bruce’s attack aside, returning to his search. 

For a moment, Bruce considered giving up, letting Jason have whatever he wanted. He still didn’t know why Jason thought he was a traitor, but considering that Jason still existed, and evidently hadn’t disappeared two years ago, then maybe Bruce had betrayed him by not looking hard enough. Whatever price Jason chose to extract, Bruce couldn’t claim innocence. Then, Bruce wondered what would happen when Jason inevitably found nothing, and whether his revenge might spread beyond Bruce himself. That was enough to decide him. He couldn’t risk his other children, not even for the sake of his lost child. 

Marshalling his mental resources, Bruce fought back again, pushing Jason away from his memories. Just like before, Jason swatted him back, but this time, Bruce used Jason’s momentary distraction to slip into Jason’s memories in return. He only had a moment to be surprised it had actually worked before he was swept away by a wave of unwanted remembrances. 

_...trapped, taken from the home he’d made his own, no Alfred or Dick or Bruce, just a dark box…_

_...a man in a pool, a human, but smiling at him with the glowing eyes of a ghost…_

_…a woman’s voice, ”Come, child. We will make you strong”..._

_...the pool, closer and closer…_

_...no, he didn’t want to! He didn’t want to! Where was Bruce?_

_“Bruce!”_

_“Bruce gave you to us. This is all for him.”..._

_...drowning in the pool, liquid turning into fire, rage slowly growing, roiling, turning him red and dark and angry…_

_… “On order of Ra’s al Ghul, the final test of Bruce Wayne. Go, child. This is your duty: kill him.”_

Bruce gasped, surfacing from the memories. 

“Bruce!” Dick clung to him, followed swiftly by Tim and Cass. Barely conscious, Bruce held the three of them close, drawing comfort from them just as they drew from him. He let the boys’ babbled recounting of events wash over him, making reassuring sounds and stroking gentle fingers through Cassie’s hair. 

“-and then the red ghost flew out of you like he was an elephant running from a mouse, and you woke up,” Tim concluded, having apparently taken over the recounting. “Not that you’re a mouse, dad. You’re way cooler than that.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m glad I’m cooler than a mouse.” Bruce pushed himself onto his elbows. “Where did the red ghost go, Tim?” 

“He’s over there.” Tim pointed across the parlour to a sofa on the other side, then quickly drew his finger in, as though afraid Jason would bite it off. 

Bruce pulled away from them, gently reassuring Tim and Cass as they tried to hold on. “I’m just going to talk to him. It’s okay, you’ll see me the whole time.”

“It’s okay, B,” Dick said, chin set firmly. “I’ll look after them.” 

Bruce smiled his thanks, then clambered to his feet, crossing the room and settling down just outside of Jason’s reach. Jason watched him warily from the corner of his eyes, huddled against the back of the lounge with his arms around his knees. He was still dark red, rather than the normal bluish shade of ghosts, but he was no longer grotesquely oversized and spewing smoke, so Bruce counted it as an improvement. 

“Jason,” Bruce started, then stopped. What could he even say next? How could he show how much he regretted letting Jason down, believing that he really was gone? He should have tested the body further, sent out inquiries. He knew Ra’s al Ghul considered him as a prospective suitor for Talia, and that Ra’s would think nothing of kidnapping a ghost, even a child ghost, if it suited his purposes. If only he’d recognised the box as one of the ghost-containment devices he’d seen when he was training with Ra’s, he would have known to open it in private, and avoided all the terror that had been caused by his rashness. He should have known better, and now his children were hurt, Jason most of all. 

Really, there was only one thing he could say. “Jay, I’m sorry.” 

Jason turned to face him. Not sure if this was a good sign or not, Bruce continued, “I should have investigated further, tested those bones to make sure they were yours. I could have saved you from all of this, and instead I let you down. I’m so sorry, Jason.” 

“You’re... apologising?” Jason seemed surprised, and Bruce’s heart sunk. Had he really hurt his child so much that Jason didn’t even believe he’d apologise? “Just because you weren’t ridiculously paranoid instead of your regular paranoid?” 

Bruce didn’t know what to say to that. “Yes?” 

“I don’t even care about that,” Jason scoffed. “Well, I care a little, because I really wish you had been ridiculously paranoid, but Bruce, I just attacked you, and invaded your mind, and _possessed_ you, just because I thought you’d used me to fill some dream of happy families. I hated you for giving me to Talia, and you didn’t even do it! Then I saw how much you’d missed me this whole time, how you thought I hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye, but still loved me anyway-” Jason hid his head in his arms, his next words coming out muffled. “You should hate me.” 

Bruce shuffled closer. “I could never hate you.” He hesitated, then, “You’re my son.” 

A choked sob came from within Jason’s crossed arms.

Abandoning his caution, Bruce pulled his son into his arms, holding Jason in his arms and letting the weight of him be proof enough that against all hope or expectation, his lost child was returned. 

***

Bruce Wayne was thirty three years old when he met his living son. 

By now, Bruce had grown accustomed to the idea that his family was made up of mostly ghosts. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Cass had all been with him for years, forever remaining the age they had been when they died. Occasionally, there had been others. Steph had stayed the longest, spending several years at the manor and becoming fast friends with Barbara before deciding to move on. 

Of course, there was still Alfred, but Alfred was getting older. One day, Alfred would die, and with him would go Bruce’s last connection to humanity. The Gordons may still come around for dinners sometimes, but the brief connection of hands brushing across a dinner table was not much compared to a long existence bereft of any other touch. As much as he loved his children, the warmth of human connection was one thing they could not provide. 

His children were clever, so naturally they were aware of this and made active attempts to make him get out more. Appreciative of their passion and understanding the love it sprung from, he obeyed, but could only ever seem to find more ghosts. The children took this as a challenge, and each made their own effort to find him more humans to connect with. 

In the end, none of their efforts solved the problem of Bruce’s lack of human connection. Instead, the solution came to them. Not that any of them considered it a solution at the start. 

Bruce was in his office on a video call with Wayne Enterprises’ Japan office when the lights went out. “Alfred!” he called. 

No reply came. 

Neither did any of his children appear. 

Immediately suspecting the worst, Bruce reached under his desk and brought out his goggles. They were equipped with a night vision setting as well as several of his ghost hunting tools, and were never far from his side. He’d long since lost the need to use them to see ghosts, but they were still useful for spotting people who had been possessed, or determining the relative age and strength of a ghost. He put the goggles on, then approached the stairs, keeping his eyes open for anything unusual. Very few people dared to try to rob Wayne Manor, and even fewer could get past his security, but it was better to be careful than dead. At least so far. 

As he made his way down the stairs, he could hear noises in the entrance hall. Immediately, his pace quickened. Taking the last few steps at a leap, he rounded the doorway and saw a boy, no older than twelve, standing in the middle of the hall, being attacked by ghosts. 

Dick and Tim were swooping around the boy, attempting to dive through him but each time being blocked by the armour the boy was wearing. Jason had grown bigger, the room rattling around him, figurines flying off the shelves and towards the boy, who managed to dodge all of them. Cass, as quiet and clever as always, had managed to sneak her way just behind the boy, but hadn’t considered the dark grey object the boy was holding in his hand. 

“Cass, stop!” 

All of the children whirled to face him. 

“That box will trap you. It’s designed to take down ghosts." Bruce stalked towards the boy, mouth set in a grim line. No one should have that kind of weapon in his house. “What does the League want?’ 

“League?” 

“League of Assassins,” Bruce answered Tim, not taking his eyes off the boy. He was young for a League member, though that didn’t mean he was any less deadly. “They’re a death cult who hunt ghosts. I trained with them for a while, when I was young.” 

“We do not just hunt ghosts,” the boy said. His gaze flicked around the room, but always returned to Bruce, watching him just as one would watch a tiger. “Ra’s al Ghul knows more about ghosts than anyone in existence,” he looked challengingly over at Tim, “living or dead. We capture and study them, then use that knowledge to become better assassins.” 

“Why are you here?” Bruce growled. “You can’t have my children.” 

The boy’s shoulders straightened, then he bowed. “I’m here to learn from you. Father.” 

Bruce’s mouth dropped open. He stared at the boy, categorising every detail about him. He had the Wayne nose, the same one that was in all of the family portraits, and the curve of his cheekbones did bear a slight resemblance to what Bruce saw in photographs of his mother, but his eyes reminded Bruce of another woman entirely… “What’s your mother’s name?” 

“Talia al Ghul,” the boy said proudly. “I am Damian al Ghul. Or, if you choose to claim me, I will be Damian Wayne.” 

Bruce drew in a deep breath. This was the child, the child Talia had told him she had miscarried. He had survived, and all these years Bruce hadn’t known he had a son. 

No. It was too soon to get carried away. Ra’s al Ghul would not hesitate to use Bruce’s emotions to sneak an assassin into his household. After what they had done to Jason, he would not let the League hurt his children again. “I’ll need a DNA test to prove that.” Still, he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “If you are my son, you will be welcome here. But you still haven’t told me why.” 

“Mother believed I was not ready to go through the ritual, and sent me here for more training.” Damian’s eyebrows drew together mutinously. “Out of respect for my mother, I have abided by her wishes, though I believe my training is sufficient. That one survived, after all, and he is no older than me.” 

His arm flung out to indicate Jason, who was caught uncharacteristically off-guard. “Me? What have I got to do with it?” 

“Grandfather decided you were able to go through the Ritual of Strength, which, while not the same as the Ritual I would undergo, is close enough that your survival should be proof that I am ready. Unlike you, I have been training for this for years.” 

“Your grandfather was the one who did that to me?” The paintings on the walls began to vibrate with Jason’s anger. “Who kidnapped me and tried to make me kill Bruce?” He swung towards Bruce. “Why are we even letting him in here?” 

“He’s Bruce’s son,” Tim said quietly. 

“So are we!” Jason snarled. The vibrations increased. “Give me one good reason why we should let that demon spawn live in our house with our father!”

“He’s Bruce’s _real_ kid,” Tim said again, slightly louder. “We’re just-” 

“Not good enough, Timmy! We’re his kids too!” 

“League of Assassin members kill themselves and possess their own bodies so they can live forever,” Bruce said quietly. “That’s what Talia saved him from.” 

The vibrations cut off. 

In the sudden silence, Damian’s voice rang clearly. “She didn’t _save_ me. I didn’t need to be saved.” He sounded small and achingly young. “It’s my destiny.”

Bruce knelt, laying his hands on Damian’s shoulders. It didn’t matter anymore if this kid was biologically his - Bruce was taking him anyway. “In this house, your destiny is to be loved.” 

***

Bruce Wayne was eighty two years old when he died. 

The manor was very different now from what he remembered as a child. 

Back in those few wonderful years before his parents had died, now only dimly remembered, the manor had been quiet. One child’s laughter was not enough to fill the echoing halls, no matter how joyful the child was. In the years after his parents died, of course, there had been no more laughter at all. 

Over the years, his family had grown, more and more children coming to live within his walls. Damian had outgrown his childhood resentment of the children coming to his ancestral home, and was now a man, bringing home children of his own. The laughter echoing through the halls was plentiful enough to drown out lingering memories, and more than once Bruce had stepped out of his office only to be surprised by a rush of cold as a child ran right through him, too excited to stop in time. 

Other things had changed as well. Jason had chosen to move on, ensuring he said goodbye to each member of the family before finally passing through into whatever came after the end. Cass and Tim were still around, though Bruce knew that both had answered their final wishes. Dick was as much a child as he had ever been, but, after Alfred died, he’d taken on the role of introducing new children to the manor and making them comfortable there. And Damian, of course, had changed the most of all, his hair now streaked with grey and lines carved into his face from his rare smiles as much as his more familiar look of disapproval. 

Now, all four of them were gathered in Bruce’s bedroom, the same bedroom he had lived in throughout his long life. Outside he could still hear the laughter of children playing, but inside it was quiet. This was the end, and they all knew it. 

He looked around at them all, marvelling how much his family had grown. When he’d first told Alfred he’d wanted to find a ghost, he’d never imagined it would lead to this. Wearily, he lifted his head from the pillow. “Come to say goodbye?” 

“Only for now,” Dick told him. He was sitting on the end of the bed with Cass and Tim, their weight creating slight impressions on the bedspread. Damian, as the only other adult, had created a more sizable dip, but that hadn’t prevented him from doing the same. 

All other goodbyes had now been said, and now it was just him and them. His children. The ones who had been at his side for the longest. The first children who had been truly his. 

“It is not a true goodbye, Father.” Damian’s voice wobbled, but did not falter. “Your memory and your mission will live on, and a part of you will live on with it.” 

“I know it will, Dami. Because of you.” Bruce reached for his son’s hand, gripping it as tightly as he could. He then looked at the other two. 

“Not goodbye for us. We’re coming with you,” Tim said. Cass nodded, still more comfortable with gestures even after all these decades. 

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked. After Jason had passed on, he had finally been assured that if his children felt it was time to go, they would, and had no longer worried so much about inadvertently keeping them from what came next. For the first time, he was worried about the opposite. Was he dragging them with him into death?

One look at them, however, and he knew he was not. They were holding hands, smiling, looking comfortable with their decision. “Sure,” Cass told him. “It’s our time to go.” 

Bruce’s gaze turned to Dick. “What about you, sport?” 

Dick grinned at him. “I’m going to stick around here a bit longer. Can’t leave my baby brother all alone!” He nudged Damian’s side playfully, his elbow going right through Damian’s suit. 

Damian’s lips pressed together in what looked like disapproval, but Bruce knew was his way of hiding a smile. “I’m older than you.” 

“Maybe in years alive, but I was born first!” 

Damian opened his mouth to retort, but his eyes went to Bruce, and he changed his mind. “We will look after each other, Father. You do not need to worry about us.” 

His first thought was that he would always worry about them, but after he died, he didn’t know if that would be true. A part of him thought it would, somehow. His worry for his children was a part of loving them, and he could not imagine any possible existence where his love for his children was not engraved in the very core of his being. Still, there was something more important to be said. 

“I love you all. Damian,” his gaze met each of them as he said their names, “Dick… Timothy… Cassandra. My life was much richer for having you in it.” 

All of his children had tears in their eyes now. Tim was the one to say what they were all feeling. “We love you too, Dad.” 

Bruce closed his eyes, laid his head back against the pillow, and let himself surrender to the unknown. 

***

Bruce Wayne was eighty two years old when he finally found out what happens next. 

END

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: this fic deals extensively with death and mortality. Most of the characters are ghosts. At one point a character is abducted and assumed dead, but actually had their body modified against their will. The viewpoint character is possessed against his will. Also, in the end, the viewpoint character dies. 
> 
> Despite all that, it's actually not as dark as it sounds! It is a teen, gen story, and is really more about family and finding peace. Only the possession happens in any detail.
> 
> Music: Resolution by Jon Brion for the Paranorman Soundtrack  
> Norman Tries To Keep It Cool by Jon Brion for the Paranorman Soundtrack  
> Norman's Walk by Jon Brion for the Paranorman Soundtrack  
> Are We There Yet by Jon Brion for the Paranorman Soundtrack  
> The Funeral by by Danny Elfman for the Frankenweenie Soundtrack  
> Return 16 (time capsule) by Max Richter for the album Sleep


End file.
